


This Was Not My Plan

by sky_NoLimit



Category: Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Death, Hostage Situations, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Rating May Change, Terminal Illnesses, Violence, hostages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_NoLimit/pseuds/sky_NoLimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a shooter loose in Cleveland, Ohio. The shooter takes refuge in an apartment block with the aim of using a resident or residents as hostages. The problem is; Seb is that hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Was Not My Plan

**Author's Note:**

> The most important thing to say is there will be a few issues covered in here that may be of a sensitive nature to some out there, whether because of their experiences, their relations or their opinions. If people feel unsettled by subjects such as mental health, long term illness, family bereavement, child abuse (potentially graphic), hostage situations, violence and guns please do consider carefully whether this is something you would like to read. I have always had a dark mind, maybe because of my own experiences leading it to be too dark for even myself to handle at times, and for whatever reason I like to express it here; sometimes this can be almost spring cleaning where after the you feel rejuvenated and refreshed. But please, feel free to leave constructive criticism as it is always appreciated.  
> With Respect,  
> Sky

Saturday dawned warm and welcoming in apartment 12 of the East 4th street apartment block. The dizzying sounds of traffic hummed quietly just outside of the window as Seb slowly opened his eyes to join the rest of the conscious world. His mind drifted back to the night before when he and Anthony had enjoyed a few beers and plotted to liven up the three day weekend, they’d been given Monday due to the Russo brothers family commitment, with an outrageous night out with a few of the cast on the Saturday. Of late the filming process had become intense and Seb and Anthony concluded that everyone deserved a night to kick back and breathe, and drink. So, giggling like a pair of school girls, they had sent out a mass text to the cast informing them of the logistics. The response had been positive and so it was set, they were to meet at 8pm at the ‘Lucky 8’ from where they would begin their adventure. Seb smiled to himself at the forthcoming revelry, he had grinned merrily when Chris had responded with a ‘Hell Yes!!’ followed by many smiley emoji and a martini glass, before he had remembered Anthony was with him and he had quickly schooled his smile into something more appropriate, something less star-struck, or love-sick.  
Seb’s mind flickered to Chris, his smile, his arms, his infectious laughter. Seb knew he was hopeless, he knew Chris didn’t feel the same way but the lack of reciprocation did nothing to quell the fire that burned deep in Seb’s chest. Seb knew that they were only two months away from the end of filming and once that sate had passed it would be another year before they reunited to film more and as much as Seb regretted having to be separated from Chris at all at least his fire could be sustained on the knowledge that they would see each other again in the future, even if Seb would have to wait a year. Seb’s mind continued to wonder as he rolled over to gaze at the lonely patch on the king-size bed next to himself, he wondered what it would be like to wake up to Chris. How his cerulean blue eyes would flicker open in the morning sun, those clear pools of inviting water capturing Seb’s own icy orbs and beckoning him to plunge into the deep. Seb wondered how the sun would kiss Chris’ skin and set his skin aglow with warmth, warmth that called to be kissed and worshipped by lips, hands and more. Seb closed his eyes and tried to imagine the feel of Chris’ hands on his own skin, imagining the tremors of anticipation that would roll across his skin as those gorgeous long digits caressed his fair skin. As he did so, Seb’s own hand drifted to the waist band of his already heavily tented silk sleep shorts, the shorts themselves being black with a red star over the seat, a gag gift from his secret Santa that had been organised by Scarlett this past Christmas. She had said it would be a good ice breaker for the cast and crew; she had been right, ‘always am’ she had remarked to Seb sassily when he dared to contradict her.  
Seb’s hand drifted poignantly across the band of the silk, hovering uncertainly, before committing to the illusion of his hand not being his own and thrusting below the elastic to grip the heated length that lay below the silk. In grasping his pieces, Seb tipped his head back with a groan, losing himself to the dream that it was Chris’ elongated digits encasing his manhood. Tentatively, he began to stroke, his mind was awash with images of Chris bending hid head forward to kiss his lips, Chris staring deep into his eyes as he took control of Seb with his dextrous hands, Chris aligning himself between Seb’s thighs before dropping his head down onto the spike of flesh and dancing his tongue across the head and assaulting Seb with pleasure. With this in mind, Seb wasn’t surprised the fantasy didn’t last long. All too soon he could feel the coil of heat winding tighter at the base of his spine before erupting out with a cry of ‘Chris!’ to the empty room and hot liquid seeping into the silk. Seb’s eyes reopened to the light which also came with a swirl of shame deep in his core. He felt guilty for getting himself off to the image of Chris, he felt dirty, like he had committed a crime by just thinking about it. Sighing heavily Seb decided that he had best shower as there were still errands to run before tonight and the sensation of cooling come in his boxer shorts really wasn’t something he felt like lingering with. Throwing himself bodily from the bed he deftly striped himself of the shorts before dropping them in the hamper on his way to the shower. ‘Put the smile away and on with the day’, he thought bitterly.  
***  
Alistair West was not a well young man. At 26 years old he was a drug user, with a history of mental health issues and violent assault. He was a paranoid schizophrenic who frequently dropped off the radar of society and was now, once again, not medicated and suffering from severe delusions. Alistair had been living on and off with his mother for the past year and she had noticed a rapid decline in his mental well being within the last two months. But she too was suffering from her own medical condition, emphysema, and was in no state to be taking charge of anyone let her deranged son. So as it was Mrs. West was bed bound and reliant on Alistair to keep collecting her medication and food from the local store whilst Alistair, in his current state, was under the belief that after the government were in fact looking for him and they wanted his brain for medical science. Alistair had tried hard to maintain control of his mind but with the loss of his medical insurance and his mother’s ever declining health he had been forced to put his own needs to back of his mind and try to focus on his mother. Hence, why he was now not medicated and suffering from delusions that the government were going to kill his mother and take his brain. Alistair loved his mother though, even as a young boy with his father terrorising them both Alistair would do whatever he could to protect his mother. Sometimes that meant causing trouble to attract his father’s attention away from his mother or sometimes even throwing himself physically onto his father to try and pull him away, even if the result had a poor outcome for himself. Both Alistair and his mother, Katherine, were greatly relieved on his 14th birthday when his father announced that he was leaving for a job in Houston, Texas and that he would never be coming back. Mrs. West was a nurse, so although the money was a little tighter following the departure of her husband she was certainly financially stable enough to cover hers and Alistair’s living expenses. Once she had become ill however their circumstances changed; insurance from her work at the hospital would cover the cost of her medication but Alistair’s health insurance ran out when he was 25 years old and they didn’t have the capital to renew let alone cover the yearly premiums. Alistair had taken control of the finances whilst his mother was ill and had believed that he could manage without the medication since he had his mother to focus on.  
Mrs. West was well aware that her son had entered a severe decline but she was entirely reliant upon him and she hoped that with her being bed bound and reliant upon him he might be able to maintain some semblance of control. This was a futile hope as Mrs. West had not anticipated such a rapid decline in her health to the point where she slept for almost 18 hours of that day and even whilst awake was unable to leave her bed for anything other than trips to the bathroom and even then she needed the support of Alistair. So, as it stood, the West household was neither safe nor happy and its occupants clung to each other and life with a grim determination. It was a situation that was doomed to fail.  
It was Saturday morning when Alistair entered his mothers room with a bowl of oatmeal, sprinkled with sugar and a drizzle of honey and his mothers medication also set on the lap tray. Alistair carefully placed the tray to the side whilst he opened the curtains before supporting his mother into a more upright position in her bed without jostling the oxygen tubes.  
“Morning...sweetheart” Mrs West said softly.  
“Morning, mum” was Alistair’s gentle reply.  
When Mrs. West saw Alistair like this she wished deeply that she could film it and show other people who had doubted her son and considered her loyalty to him wasted. He had problems, he had been violent, but never to her or the people he knew, he was ill and he needed people to be patient and have a little understanding that they couldn’t treat him like any other person because he would never respond or see the world like any other person. She never would understand the stigma people had for mental illness, with people choosing to see it as fake or ‘over dramatic’, not a real sickness like a disease, especially when all Mrs West saw was her son all but throwing himself into the road to keep her alive and well, or at least, as well as she could be. Alistair drew her attention back to his grey eyes.  
“I need to pop out to the store for your meds, is there anything else you need?” he asked.  
Mrs West drew breath slowly and painfully, she could see his wrist twitching involuntarily, it concerned her.  
“Nothing else, sweetheart but,....how are you?.....Are you eating?” she huffed out, concern lacing her voice. Alistair looked away.  
“You’ve...been...looking...so...thin...of....late...” she descended into a heavy coughing fit. Alistair pulled her a bit more upright before increasing the oxygen and rubbing her back to try and massage the chest.  
“Mum, please, don’t worry about me. It’s you we need to protect and I know why you’re getting worse,” he intoned desperately. “It’s them, you can’t even make sentence without losing air, please just trust me, they won’t hurt you if you trust me.”  
It was as she feared, she knew he was having paranoid delusions again but in her state she was powerless from her sick bed; as he’d said, she could barely breathe anymore.  
“Just....the store....then....straight home...” she wheezed desperately.  
“Ok mum, ok. There and back, I’ll get you what you need, nobody will hurt you” Alistair replied frantically, though the last bit was more for himself than his mother.  
Mrs West watched helplessly as her son left, shutting the door behind him. She tried to settle her heart which was beating a hysterical tattoo in her chest before picking up the spoon and eating a little breakfast but she couldn’t help but feel that dark cloud of foreboding for herself and her son looming ever closer.


End file.
